


Sleepless

by hipsterloki



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dreams, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipsterloki/pseuds/hipsterloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers won, they had taken the demi god down and threw him off planet -- so why couldn't Clint forget already? Why does he have to still dream?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta-Read.

Clint still dreamed. He’d wake up sweating, and cold, his eyes wide and confused. No, he remembered. Every time he slept, every time he managed to screw his eyes shut, curling up under the thin sheets of his bed – he remembered. Most of the memories were a blur truthfully but some of them slowed down, moments clarified and horrified him. There were faces he recognized that he had done horrible things to and all of it came back when he was sleeping. And then sometimes he’d dream of him. When he dreamt of him, it was as if he were being haunted instead.

He didn’t want to go back to sleep, but his clock’s glowing red numbers told him it was 3AM. There on the Helicarrier most areas got shut down for the night, either you slept or fuck you, you goddamned slept (as Fury had a habit of putting it quite colorfully). Clint pulled himself up, the covers falling away, goosebumps prickling his exposed skin. He shuffled in the small bed until he had his back pressed against the cool metal of the wall. He only trusted Natasha with his new found insomnia, but it was too late to go crawling to her, disturbing her so he could scrape up a few hours of sleep. He wouldn’t do that to her, she deserved more.

Clint’s head fell back, thumping against the metal wall dully. He furrowed his eyebrows, stormy gray eyes staring up at the dark ceiling. It was futile, every attempt at respite was futile but his eyes were drooping, arms still crossed defiantly across his bare chest. But then there he was, and he could feel the light touches ghosting up his crossed arms, making their way to feel his face curiously. There he was, peering up at him as he snaked up to straddle Clint’s lap. There he was, smiling coyly, green eyes glittering in the dark.

Clint jostled violently, head lolling and hitting the wall, waking himself up from the dream he had fallen into unknowingly. He forced his eyes to open wider, blunt nails digging into his biceps, hoping the pain would keep him awake.

But he felt the black creep into the corner of his eyes, a foreboding buzz rang in his ear, blotches of white dots entered his vision that disoriented him until those green eyes were peering up at him again, hands resuming their place on his face and he couldn’t move. He knew in the back of his mind he was panicking, some part of his body had fallen asleep and he was halfway awake, halfway asleep and completely in hell.

“Don’t give me that look,” the voice was playfully soft. The snake in human skin was situating himself on top of Clint’s lap, brushing and stroking Clint’s short hair with long fingers. The body stretched up and the green eyes now looked down at Clint, the coy smile still in place. “I know you’re glad to see me.”

And Clint could not move, as much as he wanted to scream and cuss and fight, he could only stare up at the pale face hovering over him. His stomach coiled in dread, cold tendrils of panic wrapping around his throat, chest and sliding up and down his spine. He wanted it to go away, he desperately wanted the being on top of him to go away.

“I won’t ever do that, Agent Barton. I’m in here,” a slender finger poked at Clint’s head and slowly traced down the curve of his jaw, down his neck until he dug the nail into Clint’s bare chest, right over his heart. “And here.”

He wanted to yell at him to get out of his head, to leave him alone. He had lost, he had lost everything so why was he still here tormenting him? The Avengers won and he had gotten his ass dragged off planet, so why couldn’t he shake him out of his thoughts? Clint’s breathing was uneven and wavering, his body felt like it was shaking and yet he pleaded futilely with his body to twitch so he could force himself awake.

“But who says you’re asleep, Agent?” Thin lips were incredibly close, heat washing over his face as the hallucination spoke. Not real, Clint told himself quietly. He was trained for a lot of things, he whispered comfortingly to himself. A fucking nightmare was nothing.

Thin hands gripped at his shoulders, nails scraping along the skin and the thin lips ghosted over his nose almost fondly. Clint wanted to bite and rip and lodge every single one of his arrows into that smiling face. The smile grew wider, and the lips trailed down to give Clint a chaste kiss.

“I am a god. The God of Mischief. You think me entering your dreams is out of my prowess?” The voice hummed close to Clint’s jaw, wet lips pressing an array of kisses down it. “All the things I made you do, Agent Barton. Does it keep you up at night?” Clint knew he was being teased, verbally and physically. The fingers sliding back down to rest on his chest, the mouth that was now edging down the curve of his chin, and the words whispered gently against his sweating skin – all of it was meant to tease him and it frustrated him. A bubble of laughter left the “ _god”_  sitting on his lap, the noise rattling Clint like a sharp slap on the face. “You’ve gotten excited, Agent. Even without the Tesseract’s power looming over you. Your body betrays you.”

Fuck you, Clint wanted to retort. Another bought of panic coiled in his stomach, making the heat that followed feel uncomfortable and wrong. God, what was wrong with him?

“Me, Clint – I’m what’s wrong.” He wanted to strangle that slim white throat. He wanted to choke out the words and make them disappear. “Won’t you say it, admit it to yourself. You will know peace, Agent, once you just acknowledge it. I am your undoing. I have undone you. And no matter how much these people or Natasha tries to patch you up, a piece of you has gone. And I’ve taken it from you. And I’ve put myself in it’s place. Tell me, Agent Barton. Admit it to me.”

And then the body shifted and a small uncomfortably wonderful feeling jolted down his cock and made him realize just how hard he was. But when he blinked the room was dark and there was no one with him. He moved his arms stiffly, peeling his sweaty back from the metal wall and leaning forward, gasping for breath.

He was awake, alone, uncomfortably warm in the worst parts he could possibly want and it had happened again — the dream that overshadowed everything, the dream of Loki still tormenting him, touching him, making him react.

He wanted to go out down the hall and to the gym, he wanted to practice his archery, he wanted to break himself on the exercise equipment. He wanted to forget. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t and some part of him felt like Loki would never let him forget. Only Natasha would notice the circles under his eyes, the slight scowl on his face and ask,  _bad night?_ all too knowingly.

But only he could ever admit to himself that something was wrong, that something had broken inside of him. Not just broken, but taken away from him and it was Loki’s fault.

All of it was.


End file.
